


Whippersnappers

by Eligh



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Monroe kicking ass and taking names in their old age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whippersnappers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darksquirrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquirrel/gifts).



> Nick and Monroe are in their 60s or 70s? Sure, why not.

Nick grunted and slammed the car door shut behind him. He glanced at Monroe, who was watching him with a cocked eyebrow, glasses resting low on his nose. Nick snapped a fresh bolt into his crossbow and pushed the ‘down’ button controlling the window, leaned out, and threw over his shoulder—“Driving away at any time now would be good, dearest.”

As he aimed for the charging jagerbar, he heard Monroe snort, and then the truck shifted into gear and then (“What the hell, Monroe!”) they were _backing up_ toward the damn thing, and Nick heaved himself back into the cab and glared.

“This is literally the exact opposite of what I wanted you do, you—” Nick fished under the seat for something more useful in hand-to-hand combat than a crossbow, and could practically _feel_ Monroe’s eyes rolling.

“Relax, snookums,” Monroe said dryly (and ok, maybe ‘dearest’ was a low blow, but _snookums_ , really). And then—“Hey, you’ve got full coverage on this thing, right?”

“What? Why—”

And of course the millisecond Nick realized _why_ (and holy crap he was going to kill Monroe, he _liked_ this truck) there was a heavy _thwump_ and Monroe shifted out of reverse and grinned over at him. “Ta-da.” He wiggled his fingers in a mockery of jazz-hands, and Nick glared harder.

“Hit and run? You remember that I was a cop, right?”

“More of a hit and sit, really,” Monroe commented, grabbed his cane (that Nick swore he didn’t need, he just carried it around ‘cause it looked fancy) and opened the driver’s door, levering himself out. “And you were gonna shoot him in the head anyway, Mister Hypocrite.”

“I would have aimed for his shoulder,” Nick muttered, but Monroe was already by the bed of the truck, inspecting the unconscious jagerbar (who had reverted to a naked and scruffy twenty-something, but was still breathing, so hey). Nick joined him, grumbling under his breath, but he stopped when Monroe shot him an amused look.

“You sure this is the guy? He’s a stick. He didn’t even dent the truck.”

“Looks are deceiving, and all that…” Nick said distractedly, waving a hand, already busy inspecting the truck bed to make sure that no dents had in fact been suffered. “And yea. I caught him stalking the house of his next victim, which you would have known if you’d bothered to get out of the truck.”

“My hip was hurting.”

“Seems fine now.”

“Well _now_ is an entirely different matter.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nick said fondly, and Monroe shot him a look that, had they been thirty (or even forty. Maybe fifty) again, would have had Nick jumping him right there. But as for right now, Nick just smiled filthily back and then they turned to look down.

“Well then.” Monroe peered over the rim of his glasses at the kid, who was stirring slightly on the ground. He leaned on his cane and prodded the kid with his foot. “Hey, bear. Wake up, we want to talk to you.”

The kid opened his eyes, alert enough that he’d probably been faking the extent of his knocked-out-ness, and growled. Monroe rolled his eyes again and let out his wolf, which Nick was fairly certain had only gotten more intimidating with age. But the kid didn’t even blink, instead bolting to his feet and unsheathing his claws, his eyes fixed on Nick. He growled something about Grimms being past their prime, and took a step forward.

Nick blinked in surprise, not particularly threatened by the obvious posturing. Truth be told, he was just shocked the kid was able to stand stably—they’d hit him pretty hard. And anyway, Monroe wasn’t about to let anything (especially not some twenty-year-old idiot) anywhere _near_ Nick and yep, there was that familiar growl, and then a dull _thud_ and the kid crumpled to the ground again.

Nick looked up (adjusting his own glasses—a recent addition, and he was still unused to them) and Monroe sighed, swinging his cane down from where he’d just smacked the kid in the back of the head with it.

“I swear, Nick… damn kids these days.”

 


End file.
